In Riley Steiner's decidedly old-school comedy-drama, historic Route 66 acts as metaphor and motivation for the divergent yearnings of the play's characters. The story begins in 1926, as naive cowboy Lyle (Logan Fahey) carries his blindfolded bride, Lillian (Ciera Parrack), over the threshold of what she thinks is their honeymoon suite. To her dismay, they are still in New Mexico, in the tiny title town "40 miles from the nearest nowhere," and Lyle wants her to run the tourist court he won in a poker game. Her response to his arbitrary decision starts the narrative engine chugging. Interstitial songs with soaring harmonies from country trio Aric Leavitt, Rachel Kiser, and Pat Whiteman set the nostalgic tone.
After Wall Street crashes, Tucumcari Inn becomes a haven for Dust Bowl–fleeing travelers, such as charismatic drifter Cade (Robert W. Evans), whose connection with Lillian goes seemingly unnoticed by Lyle. Soon, Cade is boarding with them, helping build Lillian a porch—the other key metaphor. Their triangulations, laced with piecemeal flashbacks, lead to an unexpected tragedy and the impending obsolescence of Route 66.
Steiner shapes scenes well for their subtext, and director Doug Traer's attractive young cast does creditable work. The intensely focused Parrack is effective at registering internal reversals while landing zingers, and Fahey's fresh-faced eagerness and Evans' understated calm are essentially correct. All three could stand more spontaneity, which, hopefully, will develop as the run progresses.
The staging counts other assets in designer Jeff G. Rack's serviceable set, Dan Reed's lighting, Suzanne Scott's costumes (though one character could use an old-age wig at the finale), and Bill Froggatt's multidirectional sound (invaluable at the dust storm that ends Act 1). Curiously, Steiner's adroitly considered text falls short of the headlong passion that its circuitous situation promises, at times suggesting Horton Foote on beet juice. The flashbacks go from confusing to explicative, and the payoff is roughly half as devastating as it might be if more than character traits and implicit attraction were at play. There's intelligence and worth afoot, but the material's truest potential is cinematic.
Presented by Theatre 40 at the Reuben Cordova Theatre, 241 Moreno Dr., Beverly Hills. Feb. 2–27. Wed.–Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m. (310) 364-0535. www.theatre40.org.